


December 5 - 20 gay Gondorians

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2005-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today's writing "mathom" is:</p><p>20 gay Gondorians</p><p>***</p><p>Write whatever you feel like – a drabble, a poem or a short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding a Little Time Alone -by Gwynnyd

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

No one had been amused: not the foremen overseeing clearing of the damaged masonry, nor the healers, nor the guards, nor the cooks, nor especially the carters bringing supplies into the city.  
  
Bergil stood before Faramir, unrepentant , if a little worse for wear. He saw that the boy was as confused as he was.  
  
"Why did you try and find out… ?"    
  
Bergil's head came up. "Lady Éowyn sent me on a quest.  She wondered if, even in this dark time, I could find twenty happy people.  So I went and asked everyone I saw if they were gay."  
  
  



	2. Free and Gay (by Marta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Title: Free and Gay  
Author: Marta  
Summary: Some soldiers of Gondor come together for a Yule celebration. Around TA 3010, give or take.

Faramir rested his head against the tree trunk that both he and Boromir rested against and sighed happily. "Do you miss it?" He nodded westward to the distant White Tower. "The feasting and the dancing you could have enjoyed in Minas Tirith, if you had gone to father instead of here?"

Boromir looked over at his brother, newly second lieutenant in the Ithilien company, and shrugged. "I have meat and wine here, and fresh-baked bread for once" -- both brothers grimmaced at the thought of twice-baked battle biscuits -- "and I prefer Amroth's horn to a court musician's harp any day."

"You say nothing of Taureth, or Morwen, or --"

"Hold your tongue," Boromir said. "Don't think that you can forever escape their piercing looks. They will fix their attention on you soon enough, Steward's son."  
.  
"Are they truly that bad?" Faramir winked playfully at Boromir. "You always slip away before the end of any dance; I find it hard to believe you find their attention **that** distasteful."

Boromir felt his face redden. "The daughters are pleasant enough, I suppose, but the mothers and aunts! They eye me like a slab of meat on a hook."

Faramir chuckled. "Well, they do say you are quite beefy..."

Boromir groaned, and then stood up quickly. "Enough talk; we can do that any time." He offered Faramir a hand and, after he pulled his brother to his feet, they walked toward the dancers. This is why they had come: the three captains of the regiments from Anórien, Cair Handros, and Ithilien, their lieutenants and squires and escorts, twenty men all told. They came to share the news and plan the next spring's campaigns, but mostly to drink and to dance.

The outer chain of men -- all from Cair Andros and Ithilien -- linked arms in a large circle, spinning around while Anórien danced within. It was as constant as Eärendil's voyage from West to East and back again, as predictable as the turning of the seasons. Celebgond and Ithilmir, the non-commissioned rangers who had ridden with Faramir's contingent, let Boromir pass and their lieutenant took his place between them. Once inside, Boromir joined the intricate play of walking in a crouch around the men whose kicks circled over his head.

Could he ever tell Faramir why he enjoyed this dance so much more than the courtly waltzes he faced in Minas Tirith? He did not escape early to enjoy the affections of a maiden, quite the opposite. It was to escape them -- and the suffocating reminders that, whatever he did with his battle-sword, if he could not force himself to bed one of them and produce an heir, he would be remembered for that failure and naught else. Preferring horns to harps, indeed! He would rather face a den of orcs than a pack of lord's daughters, any day of the year.

As the circle spun around him he saw Faramir look at him, his eyes no longer filled with mirth. Seeing his brother's puzzled expression, Boromir realized that he had was crouching still as a cat in the centre of the circle, and that he had never joined the song. He breathed in deeply, filled his lungs with the chilled air, and began:

_All ye soldiers join together,_  
Dance 'neath tree-limb or on heather;  
If Yule-week finds you free and gay,  
So through next year shall you stay.

Yes. Yule was not for worries, any more than it was for talking. Yule was for dancing, and for singing, and for forgetting the demands of the coming months. Here, in the festive woods of Cair Andros, he could find some semblance of peace. Boromir let the stomp of heavy boots and the heady scent of pine fill his head, driving out all else.


	3. Laughter - RiverOtter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Laughter  
  
Emerald and crimson  
Twenty gay Gondorians  
Savoring the feast


	4. Gaiety in Gondor - by Raksha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

GAIETY IN GONDOR  
  
  
"Faramir?"  
  
"Yes, my lord?"  
  
"Why are those men dancing together in such  a…brazen…manner?"  
  
"My lord, you seemed disappointed by the somber manner of most of  our more  
usual type of gentlemen.  You requested gaiety.  I was able  to find only 20  
suitable gay Gondorians;  after the sad losses of the  War."  
  
"Ah.  Faramir; when I spoke of gay Gondorians, I meant  Gondorian folk of a  
lively and happy demeanor."  
  
"Oh…Forgive my error, sire."  
  
"Faramir, I am not your father, no need for contrition."  
  
"Thank you, my lord.  At least they do dance in a lively  manner, do they not?"  
  
"A bit too lively.  I would prefer that they left such behavior  in the field;  
but I shall not spoil the festivities…Faramir, is that big Swan  Knight  
making eyes at me?"  
  
"It seems so, my lord; but 'tis surely in jest.  That is  Pongohil, my third  
cousin twice removed.  He flirts with everyone over the  age of fourteen.  I  
could stand in front of you if you are uncomfortable,  and let him know that his  
attentions are unwelcome."  
  
"No.  I will not hide.  Let us pray though, that the  knight does not so flirt  
with Eomer.  Your uncle would surely be angered if  one of his knights was  
harmed at my court."  
  
"Do not worry, my lord.  I believe he now bestows his glance on  Legolas."  
  
"Make him stop!  Gimli will kill him!  Faramir, go dance with the man, or  
something."    
  
"I shall dance by him, with Eowyn."  
  
"Hasten!  Gimli begins to grip his axe-handle!"  
  
"But hearken, sire!  Gimli has set down his axe.  He and  Legolas are joining  
the dancers!"    
  
"That is good!  They understand true gaiety..."  
  
"Truly?  An Elf and a Dwarf?  Is it  possible?"  
  
"I meant that they understood the spirit of revelry, Faramir."  
  
"Ah.  Of course, sire."  
  
  
  
  
(no offense to the sexual orientation of any Man, Woman, Elf or  Dwarf  
intended - RAKSHA THE DEMON)  
  



	5. 20 Gay Gondorians Gambol - by Dean Maia of Este

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

20 Gay Gondorians Gambol  
  
He looked out of the window, to rest his eyes. From where he sat, he could see the White Tree in bloom. None of the damage to the city was visible.  
  
A group of twenty boys dressed in the Livery of School marched to the Tree led by their Master. They must have gotten a talk on Gondolier history. Then the boys sat on the grass near the Tree … for a while. Soon the courtyard was ringing with the sound of healthy children running and tumbling.  
  
Elessar was content to have helped bring gaiety to at least these Gondorians.  
  



	6. Twenty Gay Gondorians - by Stefania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

"Twenty Gay Gondorians"  
  
It was Bob and Janice's first trip to San Francisco. They drove all the way north from Fresno to enjoy a break from the relentless valley heat. Fisherman's Wharf, Coit Tower, Golden Gate Park, the famous fog and cool weather--Bob and Janice experienced them all. And now, as June was in its last week, they decided to attend an event they had only heard about on the TV news--the San Francisco Pride Parade**.  
  
With water bottles and taco chip packages in hand, the couple got to Market Street early enough to stand in the second row. Within an hour, hordes of people pressed against them. Were there really half a million, as the Sunday paper had predicted?  
  
Within another hour, along came the topless dykes on bikes, signaling the start of the parade. Janice was a little embarassed. Bob was interested. Then came politicians and musicians and contingent after contingent of gay and lesbian and straight friends organizations, including a group of nude gay men. Bob was embarassed. Janice was very interested.  
  
But what struck Bob and Janice as out of place was a contingent of about 20 females, dressed in historical costumes that revealed whatever they had of cleavage. The women would have fitted more comfortably in the crowd at the Southern Rennaisance Faire. Or one of those Medieval Jousts up in Jackson that sounded like a kewl thing to attend one of these days.  
  
"Contingent 68, Silicon Valley Local: Gay Gondorians?" Janice wrinkled up her nose as she read the large banner carried by the first marchers. "That's weird. They don't look like the lesbians we've seen so far."  
  
"What the heck? Aren't those gals straight? Maybe they're 'friends'?" Bob said.  
  
The marching Gay Gondorians were followed by a convertible limousine, transporting a woman dressed like a queen out of Shakespeare who waved at the crowd. The banner draped on the car's front end bore the legend that answered Bob's question:  
  
Congratulations to our own Cindy TruthTeller  
First Place, JRRT Fanfics Awards 2006  
  
Northern California Branch,  
Middle Earth Slash Fics Writers International  
 


	7. Untitled - by Wolfwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

"Tis scarcely dawn; you must be eager to leave.  So quickly done with Yule?"  
  
Faramir continued fastening his packs to the saddle as he replied, "If I had to stay another day and see those useless lords prancing gaily about 'celebrating Yule' while my men suffer..."  Recognizing the heat in his voice, he let the sentence trail off.  He turned to fetch another bag and saw that Boromir was also dressed to travel, carrying his own packs.  
  
His brother grinned at him.  "What will happen?"  
  
"Father will have to preside over a score of funerals."  
  
Boromir looked surprised.  "Only twenty?"


	8. Fathers & Fire - by Agape4Gondor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

## Fathers & Fire

They had a right to stare. Never before had such a thing occurred. Never before had anyone done such a thing. There were 'Do Not Pass' signs everywhere. No one was to cross the line. The guards did naught. But he understood why.    
  
Slowly, he walked towards the fountain. 'I cannot chide him,' he thought. 'I would do the same.' The smell was atrocious; fumes spiraling skyward, smoke blocking out the sun.    
  
He shuddered. Then he walked forward and shooed the  **_ twenty gawking Gondorians _ ** __ away. If his father needed to put out the flames this way, what could he do? 


	9. DELAYED GRATIFICATION - by Isabeau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

DELAYED GRATIFICATION  
  
Twenty of Dol Amroth's would-be finest strove mightily beneath the Armsmaster 's piercing eye.  Six of the youngest, red-faced and sweating, labored at the pells, rhythmic cracking of wood against leather-covered  wood.  He smacked the rump of the nearest one with the flat of his  blade.  
  
"One hundred more strokes for you, Berlas, you're shirking.  I've seen women beat carpets with more force."  
  
Ten others were running through the rote drills.  Not liking the imprecise manner in which they conducted them, he demanded two more sets to an accompaniment of groans.  
  
The oldest four were sparring with each other.  Here he was kinder, though he did hook Esteven's legs out from under him.  
  
"Stance, Esteven and balance.  Do that again, and I'll have you walking ship rails down in the harbor all afternoon."  
  
The noon bell tolled out from the castle tower.  Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked at him expectantly.  
  
He roared.  "DID I SAY YOU WERE FINISHED?"  
  
 Pells were smacked furiously once more, positions flowed swiftly one  into the other, blades clashed  fiercely.  As bouts and sets and strokes were finished, one by one the twenty halted and stared hopefully at him.  Finally, even Berlas was done.  
  
He glared at them balefully for a moment, then relented at last, though there was disgust in his tone.  
  
"Begone with you!  I'll see you again in a week.  See that you don't forget everything you've learned between now and then.   DISMISSED!"  
  
Whoops and shouting broke out.  Lanky young forms leapt into the air, smacking each other on the backs.  Laughing gaily, the esquires fled the lists.  
  
A chuckle sounded behind the Armsmaster, from the only person who could walk up behind his back and not get a blade to the throat.  
  
"Tssssk.  Cruel of you to give them the extra practice, Andra."  
  
Andrahar snorted.  "They needed it, the sloppy louts."  Then he chuckled as well.  "They owe me a debt of thanks."  
  
"Thanks?"  
  
"Their holiday will be all the sweeter for the delay."  
  



End file.
